Sitting
upon the settee in the front-room of the manse of St. Columba’s Kirk - curtains
drawn across the window diagonally to her left, and roaring flames in the
fireplace opposite the settee, Catherine drank a final mouthful of black
coffee, and then placed an empty mug onto the small table just to the right of
the settee itself. For the last fifteen
minutes or so, the unexpected and yet very welcome visitor had been recovering
from the terrifying attack on - and of course her resultant flight from - the
Manor House upon Eilean nan Each Uisge; and indeed Fiona MacBrayne had just
finished listening to Catherine tell about all of the extraordinary occurrences
and puzzling discoveries, which had figured in her life since the two people
who were now within the manse, had parted company earlier in the day. Having just nodded thoughtfully, the young
clergywoman - who was seated upon the chair in the corner to the left of the
fireplace - began to speak in a deliberate and unsurprisingly serious manner.
‘I agree with your conclusion that
somehow there’s a connection between the huge seabirds and the horses which
belonged to Miss McEachan; and I agree too, that swerving to avoid the
seabirds, could have been a factor in the death of Donald Ross - who, for
whatever reason, must have been the person responsible for setting the horses
free’. Fiona paused, and shook her
head. ‘But as I suspect you feel, these
matters upon which we agree, seem to point in a direction that’s as equally
perplexing as it is disturbing’.
‘Fiona, cast your mind back to the
Manor House paddock yesterday afternoon, when one of the horses attacked me - I
caught sight of a malicious glint which was in an eye of that horse, and which
certainly didn’t seem to be characteristic of a horse at all; did you catch the
glint as well, or sense anything else out of the ordinary?’
‘Whilst I did - although without
catching the glint you’ve just spoken of - sense something unusual about the
creature, I must confess, Cathy, that I’ve had insufficient contact with any of
the horses which belonged to Miss McEachan, to become familiar with their
temperaments; indeed, I’ve never seen any of the horses other than inside the
paddock or the adjacent stable. But the
fact that the Manor House is several miles from the only sizable settlement
upon the island, could easily explain why I haven’t encountered the horses when
they were being exercised off the McEachan estate’.
Obviously deliberating deeply, Fiona
turned her gaze towards a large bookcase which was in possession of glass doors
- and which was standing in the western corner beside the window; and by the
time that the clergywoman looked back towards her visitor, close to
half-a-minute had elapsed.
‘At the beginning of February this
year’, said Fiona, ‘Miss McEachan invited me to have tea with her one Sunday
afternoon; and before I even set off for the genteel occasion, I felt that
there was something which she wished to settle amidst an air of marked occasion
- for every alternate Wednesday anyway, it was our arrangement for me to have
tea with her at the Manor House.
Whatever, towards the close of the Sunday afternoon tea, Miss McEachan
presented me with a package which I assumed to contain some kind of small book;
but whether a book was indeed contained within the package, I still do not
know, because Miss McEachan made me promise not to open the package unless -
and I can remember her words exactly – “events occur upon Eilean nan Each
Uisge, whose very strange nature clearly announces that it’s time for the
package to be opened”.
‘Curiously, it was the current
period - subsequent to her death, and preceding her estate being transferred to
the National Trust of Scotland - which seemed to greatly concern Miss McEachan;
and yet I inwardly treated the package incident rather lightly, and so
consigned the package itself, to the bottom shelf of my bookcase. However, I now believe events have
occurred upon Eilean nan Each Uisge, whose very strange nature has clearly
announced that it’s time for the package to be opened’.
The young clergywoman got up from
her chair; and as Fiona walked past the curtains of the window, Catherine
momentarily spoke.
‘I can hear heavy rain’.
‘According to the forecast I saw on
television tonight, that rain is just the beginning of severe weather for the
Inner Hebrides, over the next seventy-two hours or so’. Fiona opened the bookcase, removed a package
from the bottom shelf, and re-closed the bookcase doors. ‘The needle on the hall barometer, is
pointing to stormy - so I suspect that the television forecast will
prove to be accurate’.
Having settled back into the chair
which she had vacated less than a minute earlier, the young clergywoman
commenced to open the package; and a few seconds later, she extracted from a
taped and just-ripped piece of brown paper, a hardback volume that contained
approximately one-hundred-and-ninety leaves, and that measured about five by
eight inches. Fiona crumpled the
wrapping paper, as a prelude to throwing it into the fire; and as flames began
to consume the discarded wrapper, she read aloud the title embossed upon the
front cover of the volume:
‘“The Diary of Lord McEachan”’.
Catherine exchanged a glance with
Fiona; and then the latter woman opened the diary at a place which was indicated
by a folded sheet of notepaper. She
turned the notepaper sideways, in preparation for reading out what was written
upon it.
‘“Dear Reverend MacBrayne,
The entries which I have each marked by an asterisk (starting at the
place indicated by this notepaper), should provide an explanation for the
present and grave trouble upon the island - I beg of you, dear Fiona, always
remember me in your prayers.
Elizabeth
Jane McEachan”’.
‘What’s the date of the first
asterisk-marked entry?’, asked Catherine, recollecting that the oldest account
book concerning quadrupeds kept upon the Manor House estate, dated from fairly
early in November of eighty-two years previously.
‘The second of November - eighty-two
years ago’. Fiona slightly tilted the
diary, so that illumination from the standard lamp sharing the corner in which
she was seated, could better light up the open pages. ‘Lord McEachan’s entry for the date, is as
follows:
‘“The incidents which have been
subsequent upon the island, to Andrew Campbell’s witnessing of the five white
quadrupeds emerge from the sea - one week ago this very night, have caused a
most dreadful and understandable fear to grip every member of the island’s
adult population. Further to the
mentioned and herein recorded incidents (which of course include the mysterious
killing of over thirty sheep, and several thankfully thwarted attacks by the
terrible sea creatures, upon persons ranging from an elderly man to a girl
barely yet able to toddle), I must now ominously record the disappearance of
thirty-year-old husband and father, Robert Lachlan.
‘“But perhaps all of the strange
things which I have set down within this diary, are to be superseded in their
strangeness itself, by my now stating that I finally accept the folklore theory
which has been circulating the island throughout the majority of the last seven
days. Eilean nan Each Uisge: translated
from the Gaelic, it means ‘water horse island’; and a tradition amongst the
islanders, tells of a herd of Each Uisge - water horses, having lived upon the
island prior to the distant time when this remote place was first settled by
man. Irrespectively, and even before I
considered purchasing Eilean nan Each Uisge, I had (through my interest in
Scottish folklore) encountered references concerning Each Uisge themselves; but
never had I considered such creatures - nor their counterpart, the freshwater
Kelpie - to be anything more than mythological.
‘“This afternoon - having
acknowledged to myself that I am amidst an experience virtually defying belief,
I read some old and extremely obscure writings relating to Each Uisge; and
through those writings, I know my five adversaries to be water horses capable
of metamorphosing into huge seabirds; water horses which, when upon land,
exchange a fish diet for one of mammalian flesh, including the flesh of man;
water horses whose skin may become adhesive at their will, to drag victims to a
death by drowning; and water horses which above all else, can only die of
natural causes, after living for over
three hundred years.
‘“There is a hope for my greatly
afflicted island, however; and this hope lies in the belief that Each Uisge,
should they be captured and then kept from viewing the sea, will - within
thirty days - assume the characteristics of ordinary horses (save for savage
tempers, the unassailable longevity, and a suspension of reproduction). And so - knowing that even after the
following month (should success prove to be mercifully the case), I would have
to ensure that the five Each Uisge did not again view the sea, or they would
immediately revert to their former condition, I shall tomorrow night set into
motion my plan to capture the creatures; and having fervently prayed to God,
for the plan to cost neither human life nor injury, I hereby close the present
entry”’.
For a short while, Catherine and
Fiona sat without speaking - neither of them feeling any necessity to point out
how the just-read diary entry gave explanation to all of Catherine’s strange
experiences upon the island, as well as clues to the circumstances surrounding
the death of Donald Ross; and when the brief silence was in fact broken, it was
by words from Catherine herself.
‘How many other entries did Miss
McEachan mark with an asterisk?’
Fiona leafed through all of the
pages following the one upon which was recorded the entry for November the
second; and when she had done so, she turned back to the page that all but
immediately followed the stated entry.
‘There’s just one more entry marked
with an asterisk, and it’s for the fourth of November - it reads:
‘“My prayer to God, that the
capture of the Each Uisge, would cost neither human life nor injury, has most
graciously been answered: shortly after first light of this day, the five water
horses fell into captivity, by means of camouflaged pits which - under my
direction, and during the moonless and bitterly cold hours of last night. - the
island menfolk had industriously made upon the beach to the east of St. Columba’s
Kirk. The frequent visitation of that
beach, by the Each Uisge - and their predilection for roaming at dawn,
predictably both influenced and aided my plan; and as soon as the sea creatures
had fallen foul of the pits (lured by plentiful bait of bloody meat), I and my
fellows sprang from behind a small fleet of beached boats, and enmeshed the
Each Uisge in the strongest of fishing-nets to be found upon the island. In spite of fear generated by one of the Each
Uisge then briefly metamorphosing into a huge seabird, the five entangled water
horses were at length loaded onto carts; and as I write this entry, I am
painfully aware of the new and terrible responsibility which lies upon my
shoulders: a responsibility which thus lies, through the fact that the Each
Uisge (behind a hurriedly-constructed and yet extremely-sturdy arrangement of
iron bars) are now imprisoned within the stable of the Manor House.
‘“Of course Eilean nan Each Uisge
may now embark upon its, albeit surely to prove difficult, journey back to some
manner of normality; and although I naturally find comfort in the prospect of
this new beginning, I am immensely disturbed by the thought of the strange and
dangerous legacy which (if my life, God willing, plays out in the lengthy way
that I hope) I shall eventually bequeath to my and Constance’s beautiful
Elizabeth - unbelievably already five years old, and thinking of horses as
merely pretty creatures from picture books.
After I forthwith close this entry, I shall say a first and most fervent
prayer concerning my daughter never falling into harm from the Each Uisge”’.
Fiona tucked the notepaper which had
indicated a place within the diary, back into the place itself, and snapped the
diary shut; and then she shook her head, just in advance of commencing to
speak.
‘In the three years that I’ve lived
upon Eilean nan Each Uisge, I’ve never even heard a whisper of the story of
which the two asterisk-marked entries tell: a story which - as I’m sure you’ll
agree, Cathy - recent events make it impossible for us to discount’. The young clergywoman shook her head for a
second time. ‘Not even for a moment,
would I doubt that the story is deeply rooted within the consciousness of the
island community; and yet the fact that I’ve lived in ignorance of the story
until this very night, I find extremely understandable: there must be a
well-respected silence drawn over the story, surely through a desire to pretend
that the Each Uisge are not still alive and upon the island’. Fiona placed the diary onto one of the arms
of her chair. ‘As for the Each Uisge
themselves, is there any special arrangement for those seeming horses, in the
will of Miss McEachan?’
‘Through the law classifying them as
contents of her estate, the creatures are to pass into the care of the National
Trust of Scotland; and I can suddenly see purpose in something that previously
struck me as rather odd: there’s a sealed envelope - whose contents are unknown
to myself - which I’m charged to deliver by hand to a senior executive of the
National Trust, on the day of the estate being transferred; a sealed envelope
which I now suspect contains revelations about the true nature of the supposed
horses that belonged to Miss McEachan’.
For a few seconds, Catherine paused.
‘As for the present, Fiona, I think we should turn our minds to the
fearful problem of the Each Uisge being on the loose and presumably still
somewhere upon the island’.
‘You’re absolutely right’. Fiona fell silent for a handful of seconds or
more. ‘Obviously, the islanders will
have to be informed that the Each Uisge are again roaming free; and I shall
make the extremely difficult announcement, at a meeting within the community
hall, which I shall call by a four-minute tolling of the kirk bell. However, because of the current darkness and
the danger lurking within it, I shan’t call the meeting until dawn tomorrow -
patience shall have to temper we two until then’. Again, the young clergywoman fell silent -
this time for longer than she had done just before; and when her voice
dismissed the latest silence, she spoke but momentarily, and in a manner which
seemed to be that of someone giving utterance to a revelation. ‘Holy Water!’
‘Excuse me?’
‘Holy Water. Oh, Cathy, please bear with me, as what I’m
about to say will surely seem to be the ramblings of a clergywoman gone
suddenly into crazed overdrive, or of someone who has sadly taken far too
seriously, fictional horror stories in both literary and cinematic form; but I’ve
just had the idea that we could try to use Holy Water as a defense against the
Each Uisge, should - yet I pray God forbid it be so - the circumstances ever
arise that we need to defend ourselves against the creatures’.
‘Considering that you are a
priest, I presume it to be well within the powers of your ministry, to give
blessing to ordinary water; but even if we were in possession of Holy
Water - and needed to try to use it against the Each Uisge, in what way could
it be administered? We know there’s not
a chance that the Each Uisge would allow you to just stroll up and anoint them
upon their foreheads’.
‘Jonathan and Susan Hunter own a
tranquilizer rifle which is kept inside the wheelhouse of their boat - Susan
showed me the rifle, the first time that she and her husband took me out for a
day at sea; and as for the rifle itself, it’s a high-tech piece of equipment
which boasts a revolving chamber permitting up to half-a-dozen darts to be
fired in quick succession, and which even has a red-dot laser targeting
system. The rifle - I believe with a
view to being used to catch sharks - was part of the equipment installed
onboard, when the boat was refitted for its present role as a craft for
specimen collection; anyway, I’m certain that the Hunters would, especially
once informed of the fearful problem with the Each Uisge, be more than willing
to loan us the rifle’.
‘Bear in mind, Fiona, that the
discarded - and more relevantly, fired -shotgun which I found in the
paddock of the Manor House, hints at Donald Ross having failed in an attempt to
use the shotgun against the problematic creatures, and of course does so in
accordance with things written in Lord McEachan’s diary: no matter how
high-powered the tranquilizer rifle may be, would darts fired from it even
penetrate the hides of the Each Uisge?’
‘I fear, Cathy, that you may have
just revealed an insurmountable flaw in my plan; nevertheless, I shall try to
counter it by suggesting that, if the rifle should ever be used against the
Each Uisge, possibly vulnerable areas - such as the insides of ears, and the
insides of mouths - could serve as targets, albeit ones requiring considerable
marksmanship’.
‘What you’ve just suggested, would
at least be worth putting to the test in the most desperate of circumstances;
and with that said, perhaps we should set off as soon as possible, to try to
borrow the tranquilizer rifle from the Hunters - but where are we likely to
find them at this time of the evening?’
‘They live in the cottage at the far
side of the bay beyond the kirk, barely a minute’s walk from the genetic
research facility; and I guess that the cottage is where they are now - am I correct
to assume that you’re prepared to drive us both to it?’
‘Of course’.
‘Wonderful. But before we take our leave of the manse, I’m
going to pop into the kitchen and perform a special blessing - there’s a bottle
of spring water, inside the refrigerator; and within a minute or so, I shall
have converted the bottle’s contents into one-hundred-percent-proof Eilean nan
Each Uisge Holy Water!’
*
Approximately
ten minutes after Fiona MacBrayne had blessed the spring water that had
recently been kept in the refrigerator of the manse kitchen - and with the plastic bottle containing the
new Holy Water, tucked within a pocket of the weatherproof jacket she was
wearing, the young female priest was now the sole passenger of the BMW
belonging to Catherine Clifton-Kell, as this woman drew the car gently to a
halt in front of the isolated cottage which was staring distantly towards St.
Columba’s Kirk, and which was doing so across a sandy bay obscured by the
darkness of a rainy and overridingly moonless night. A short distance to the south of the cottage
- and covering an area of three hundred yards by one hundred, stood the genetic
research facility of Eilean nan Each Uisge: a corrugated-iron building that was
in possession of no external windows, and that was orientated with its longer
sides lying parallel to a section of the main road of the island. Of the two doors punctuating the exterior of
the research facility, one was facing towards the cottage; and it was to get a
view not blurred by raindrops on glass, of this cottage which was looming by
the passenger side of the BMW, that Fiona now partially wound down the window
to the left of where she was seated.
‘There are no curtains drawn across
any of the cottage windows I can see’, said Fiona, against a background noise
of heavy rain, and of the rhythmic sweeping of windscreen wipers, ‘and not a
trace of light shining from inside the building - and so it appears as if the
Hunters are not at home; however, the fact that their pick-up truck is parked
by a side of the cottage, makes calling at the research facility, seem to be a
worthwhile option’.
As Fiona wound the passenger-window
back up, her companion eased the BMW into motion; and only a few seconds later,
she brought the car to a standstill alongside the research facility wall which
was adjacent to the bayside road.
Catherine switched off the car engine; and almost immediately, she and
Fiona somewhat reluctantly clambered out into the rainstorm. The pair hurried round to the door which
faced towards the nearby cottage; and the consequence of Fiona then
incongruously knocking upon the door, was the rather surprising revelation -
given by the door swinging a little way inwards - that the door itself had just
been not quite fully closed. The
solicitor and the clergywoman exchanged glances, the latter person about to
momentarily precede the other in stepping into the genetic research facility.
Stretching southwards along the
floor of the building just inside which the two women were now standing - and
endways arranged into pairs, were sixty waist-high tanks constructed of metal,
each tank measuring thirty feet by twenty, and each equipped with a filter pump
that was currently emitting a decidedly soothing humming sound; and suspended
high above every pair of tanks, was a set of lights contributing to a gradual
change from brilliance to darkness, in the direction of the research facility
wall now furthest from Catherine and Fiona.
A track like that of a
narrow-gauge railway, lay next to either of the longer and external sides of
the line of tank pairs; and mounted upon the tracks in question, were the
wheels of a steel structure which resembled a railway footbridge - the catwalk
of the steel structure, being led up to at right-angles by a pair of open
flights of steps, each flight also acting as one of the structure ends.
Regardless of the fact that the
possible journeying of the structure along the tracks, could be controlled from
the console affixed centrally upon the catwalk, the structure was currently
resting against the track buffers closest to the northern wall of the research
facility; and as Catherine took in details of the catwalk which she and Fiona
were almost standing underneath, the clergywoman turned her attention
rightwards, to where a small laboratory was partially formed by an L-shaped
partition. Even graced by a roof -
albeit a flat one, the laboratory boasted a window and a door, positioned
respectively to the left and to the right at the front; but in spite of the
laboratory light being on at present, neither Jonathan nor Susan Hunter were to
be seen within the laboratory itself.
‘Jonathan and Susan’, said Fiona, ‘may
be working in the darkness at the far end of the line of tank pairs, and may
have neither heard nor seen us enter the building; and so I’d better call out
for the absent couple’.
Although the young clergywoman did
indeed - several times - call out for the two marine biologists, no reply, save
the faint echo of her own voice, sounded from even the darkened extremity of
the research facility; and thereby it became apparent to both Fiona and
Catherine, that they were not about to be greeted as visitors.
‘I suppose Jonathan and Susan must
have defied the rain, and walked to the island pub’, said Fiona; ‘and the fact
that the laboratory light has been left on, must be merely an oversight’.
Nodding in somewhat absent
agreement, Catherine - having just wandered a little way forwards - was stood
peering into one of the tanks; and therefore when she delivered the following
words of subject change, there was nothing jarring about her doing so.
‘Have you any idea what kind of fish
these are?’
Making no sound upon the concrete
floor, Fiona stepped forwards to alongside Catherine.
‘Those are Herring - a common catch
in the waters around Eilean nan Each Uisge’.
The clergywoman paused for a moment, an idea occurring to her. ‘As you probably won’t visit this research
facility again, Cathy - and as we unexpectedly have at least a few minutes to
spare, would you like to travel on the catwalk, and look down into some of the
other tanks? Jonathan and Susan like
such an observational trip to be taken by all of the new visitors to the
research facility’.
‘Well - as long as you feel that the
Hunters wouldn’t mind, why not?’
Having just unnecessarily beckoned
Catherine to follow her, Fiona walked round to the foot of the steel structure’s
steps which were now leading upwards from close to the laboratory; and not many
seconds afterwards, she and Catherine were standing by the centre of the
catwalk of the steel structure itself.
Facing the darkened end of the research facility, the clergywoman
quickly familiarized herself with the console in front of her - a console that
had the functions of each of its few controls, stated by transfers upon its
fascia; and whilst Catherine leaned cautiously over the handrail to which the
console was bolted, her companion pressed a rocker switch, to the consequence
of a small green light glowing into life, in indication of the steel structure
being readied for travel. Fiona pushed a
button whose colour matched that of the indicator light; and without delay, the
steel structure - to a slight but noticeable jolt - commenced to steadily and
quietly advance along the tracks upon the research facility floor.
About to alternate her attention
between the left and the right of the line of tank pairs, as the line itself
appeared to gracefully slide beneath the catwalk, Catherine began to peer
downwards into individual tanks of clear saltwater, each of which contained
only a single species of fish, and the populations of which - aside from those
of Herring - the young solicitor would predictably find herself lacking the
knowledge to identify. Haddock, Sea
Trout and Turbot, were some of the species which Catherine was nevertheless in
the beginnings of encountering at close proximity; but it was just less than a
minute later - as she was puzzling about the identity of the population of a
tank containing Ling - that Catherine’s mind was wrenched from thoughts
concerning piscine matters, by the steel structure being suddenly brought to an
unscheduled halt, at a place only a couple of yards past the midway point along
the tracks to the southern wall of the building.
Looking towards Fiona, Catherine
discovered that the Christian clergywoman was staring distraughtly towards a
tank somewhere below the front of the catwalk; and when Catherine transferred
her gaze to this second nearest tank diagonally to her left, she caught sight
of something which immediately caused her to emit a sharp gasp: lying upon the
bottom of the tank - eyes closed, and its forelegs pinning down the
partially-eaten body of Jonathan Hunter, was the grey-flash Each Uisge
stallion. Apparently unconcerned by the
presence of this killer creature, Skate were swimming to-and-fro in water that
was being cleansed - inevitably by the filter pump with which their tank was
fitted - of blood from the plentiful remains of the fresh corpse; and when
Fiona used a whisper to end a seemingly interminable silence between herself
and Catherine, the two women had been simultaneously staring into the tank of
Skate, for less than ten seconds.
‘It’s not just a trick of the water,
I can see the Each Uisge breathing - the abhorrent thing must be asleep!’
Regardless of a false sensation that
she was about to vomit, Catherine focussed her gaze onto the face of the
grey-flash Each Uisge stallion; and then - to a somewhat distant and yet
definite visual contact with her - the terrifying creature opened its left eye,
and Catherine heard herself desperately voicing words of retreat.
‘We’ve got to get out of here
right now!’
At the push of a button, Fiona
started the steel structure moving steadily back towards the northern end of
the research facility; and perhaps as a consequence of the structure’s aural
indication of the retreat only seconds underway, the grey-flash Each Uisge
stallion, scrambling up onto its hooves, emerged - amidst a virtual explosion
of saline droplets - head-and-mane from the water of the tank in which it had
just been resting, now to emit a terrible bellow that seemed to effortlessly
fill the vast interior of the hangar-like building. Movement other than that of fish swimming,
and of gentle currents being created by filter pumps, became immediately
evident in the first two pairs of tanks beyond the rising and bloodthirsty
stallion; and then the four other Each Uisge lifted their heads out of filtered
and salty water - the body of Susan Hunter, floating face-upwards to the
surface of one of the tanks in question.
‘Let’s get off this contraption’,
yelled Fiona, adding more urgency to her words, by frantically tugging at the
left sleeve of the slightly tattered coat being worn by her companion, and
whilst Catherine stared towards the body of the female marine biologist; ‘the
structure will automatically stop when it reaches an end of the tracks’.
As Catherine struggled to at least
briefly suppress thoughts of the horrific things which she and Fiona had just
seen, the two women hurried to the western extremity of the catwalk; and less
than ten seconds afterwards, the Hebridean clergywoman followed the lead of the
London solicitor, in leaping from a bottom step of the moving steel structure,
safely onto the concrete of the floor.
Casting a glance diagonally back rightwards - as she and Fiona dodged
out of the way of the advancing edifice of steel, Catherine spotted that the
grey-flash Each Uisge stallion was heaving itself over an edge of the tank in
which (mercifully of course unbeknown to her) it had drowned Jonathan Hunter
after commencing to gorge upon his flesh; and now Catherine grabbed Fiona by an
arm, and began to tow her towards the nearby doorway offering escape out of the
research facility. No sooner had the two
friends passed through the opening, than Catherine pulled its door shut with a
reassuringly loud click, and yet frighteningly to cause no more than a short
delay to any Each Uisge which were pursuing herself and Fiona.
Uncaring that rain was still heavily
falling, and only seconds before the grey-flash Each Uisge stallion commenced
to rapidly demolish the wooden door which had just been pulled shut, Fiona and
Catherine ran round to their respective sides of the BMW parked next to the
research facility’s western wall; and as Fiona settled into the passenger-seat
- the car doors already re-closed, Catherine turned the key inserted into the
ignition, and the engine awoke as if profoundly aware of the importance of its
part in the ongoing escape. The
windscreen wipers slogging from side to side - and the headlight beams probing
the darkness of the rainy night, the young solicitor hurriedly put her car
through a one-point turn in the direction of the neighbouring sandy bay, and
then she accelerated the BMW into the sweeping north-western curve inevitably
heading away from the genetic research facility.
‘There’s a quarry track not far
ahead’, said Fiona, ‘which leads off from the northern edge of the bay, and
which should still be passable in spite of the rain; perhaps you should drive
us some way along the track, to where - in the hopes of lessening the
terrifying chance of any of the Each Uisge following us to the manse - we could
wait for a while in the cover of the darkness’.
‘That’s a brilliant suggestion’.
Approximately two minutes later,
Catherine - having just driven her BMW bumpily along part of the earthen route
whose mud was now sampled as streaks and splashes upon the paintwork of the BMW
itself - pulled the car to a standstill some several hundred yards up the
hereabouts gently ascending track, and in the lee of a steep westerly slope
covered in tall and wiry grass; and to the intended loss of the services of the
headlights and of the windscreen wipers, she immediately switched off the car
engine, and irrespectively sank wearily back against a headrest.
‘I thought I’d be leaving Eilean nan
Each Uisge tomorrow’, Catherine said quietly, ‘with all of my work here
complete; but now I can’t see beyond the meeting to be held at the community
hall just after first-light in the morning - though this lack of vision, is
surely inconsequential when weighed against the deaths of the Hunters and
Donald Ross, and against the horrendous possibility that until the Each Uisge
are somehow dealt with, they may take further human life’.
‘We must pray in all faith to God,
for there to be no such fatal occurrence’.
Fiona looked towards Catherine, and gave a reassuring smile which was
almost lost in the darkness of the car interior. ‘Indeed, I’ve already said a silent prayer to
that effect’.
A few seconds after Fiona had
latterly spoken, Catherine - her eyes suddenly feeling gritty and tired -
imagined that she fleetingly saw a movement somewhere not far beyond the bonnet
of the BMW; and in fact during the ensuing and considerable wait upon the
moorland track, she and Fiona several times each, imagined glimpsing large
predatory creatures slinking through the darkness and the rain. But it was regardless of all of the stated
understandable imaginings, that the eventual return of the two women to the
island manse, followed a brief and uneventful car journey through the rainstorm
of the December night.
Copyright © Anne-Marie Neil 2011
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Each Uisge (Ech Ooshkya) is available to purchase as a Kindle E-Book, and as a mass-market paperback, on www.amazon.com, www.amazon.ca, www.amazon.co.uk, www.amazon.fr, www.amazon.de, www.amazon.at, www.amazon.it, www.amazon.es, www.amazon.co.jp and www.junglee.com; and as a Kindle E-Book only, on www.amazon.com.br.
A search on Google, will reveal many other worldwide internet outlets for the paperback.
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